After the French and the Dutch, came the turn of the Spaniards. There were grievances more than enough to justify hostilities, and all the diplomatic representations of the Long Parliament had failed to procure their redress. England and Spain had been at peace in Europe ever since 1630, but that peace had never been observed in the western hemisphere. Spain still claimed, by virtue of the Pope’s donation, exclusive dominion over islands it left unoccupied, and attacked all foreigners who attempted to colonise them. In 1634, the Spaniards drove out the English settlers from Tortuga; in 1641, a fleet from Cartagena captured and expelled the English colonists of New Providence on the Mosquito coast; in 1651, Santa Cruz was surprised, a hundred English inhabitants killed, and the rest forced to fly from the island. If an English ship sailing to an English colony met a Spanish fleet anywhere in western waters, it was likely to be attacked and plundered. If chance or storm drove an English ship on the coast of Cuba or Central America, the ship was confiscated, and the crew set to work as convicts.
Mixed with the desire to exact satisfaction for these injuries were other motives. Cromwell was bent on conquest for both religious and economic reasons. The islands Spain held in the West Indies were large and thinly populated, whilst the islands England possessed were small, and filled to overflowing with people. Hispaniola was fertile; “a country beyond compare,” people said. Its conquest would provide a vent for the surplus population of the English settlements, for the unruly Highlanders of Scotland, and for the vagrants and criminals of England. Added to this, every piece of territory won from Spain was so much rescued from Catholicism and gained for Protestantism.
In August, 1654, therefore, Cromwell made up his mind to send an expedition to attack the Spanish settlements in the West Indies. General Venables, who was chosen to command it, showed scruples about the justice of attacking the Spaniards. He was told, “that if we had no peace with the Spaniards, then this could be no breach of the peace; if we had peace with them, they had broken it, and then it was but just for the English to seek reparation.”
Cromwell did not believe that war with Spain in the West Indies would necessarily lead to war with Spain in Europe. There were many precedents and the practice of the Spaniards themselves to the contrary. The old Elizabethan maxim, “No peace beyond the line,” seemed still to hold good. Still more powerful was the recollection of the treasures which the Elizabethan sailors had brought home. What if Spain did declare war? It would be easy to intercept the galleons which brought the silver of Peru from Porto Bello to Havana, and from Havana to Spain. A war with Spain was the most profitable of all wars, and at the worst the profits of the captures would defray the cost of the expedition.
In December, 1654, a fleet of thirty-eight ships, commanded by Admiral Penn, sailed from Portsmouth, bearing General Venables and twenty-five hundred soldiers. With them also went Edward Winslow, once governor of Plymouth Colony, now one of the commissioners appointed to assist Venables in the conduct of the expedition. As the New England colonies had been called on to contribute to the conquest of the Dutch, so the West Indian islands were expected to co-operate in the enterprise against the Spaniards. Nor were Cromwell’s expectations disappointed. At Barbadoes and elsewhere, Venables enlisted enough to raise his army to seven thousand men. Some took service in hopes of plunder, expecting to gain “mountains of gold.” With others, the desire for new lands was the chief incentive. St. Kitts, “an island almost worn out by reason of the multitudes that live upon it,” furnished eight hundred men. But, though the army was large, it was of bad material, badly armed, half drilled, and with very little discipline. The officers knew little of their men, and the old soldiers, drafted from the different regiments in England to form the nucleus of the force, were not enough to leaven the lump. In April, Venables effected a landing on Hispaniola, and marched through the woods to attack its capital, San Domingo. The Spaniards had stopped up the wells, and the soldiers, who had no water-bottles, were worn out by thirst and fatigue before they came in sight of the town. Twice they fell into ambuscades, and were shamefully repulsed by a handful of Spaniards. In the second defeat, they lost eight colours and four hundred men, while Major-General Heane, disdaining to fly, fell pierced by a dozen Spanish lances as he strove to rally his broken regiment. Heavy rains and bad food completed the disorganisation of the troops. “Never did my eyes see men more discouraged,” wrote Venables, and when a third attempt was proposed, the officers declined to lead their men, but offered to try to take the town without them.
Hoping for better fortune elsewhere, Venables embarked his forces and sailed to attack Jamaica. Winslow died on the voyage, saying that the disgrace of the defeat had broken his heart. On May 10, 1655, the army landed at Jamaica, occupied its capital, St. Jago de la Vega, without much resistance, and drove the Spaniards to fly to the mountains or to embark for Cuba. But now the troubles of the expedition began again. It was the rainy season, and the army, ill supplied with provisions, tools, and other necessaries, was decimated by sickness. Hundreds died of fevers and dysentery. Venables himself was so ill that his life was despaired of, and he was reported to be dead. In June, Penn with the bulk of the fleet sailed for England, and Venables followed a few days later. Each laid the blame of the failure on the other, and Cromwell, knowing how much their mutual quarrels had contributed to it, sent both to the Tower. They were soon released, but neither was ever employed again.
The Protector was deeply mortified by the result of the expedition. “The Lord,” said he, “hath greatly humbled us”: but nevertheless he persisted in his projects. Jamaica, he was told by men who knew it, was a better country than Hispaniola, more fertile, more healthful, better situated either for trade or for war, so he resolved to hold it, and to make it the corner-stone of British power in the West Indies. To Major-General Fortescue, whom Venables had left in command, Cromwell promised ample supplies and reinforcements. “We think,” he added, “and it is much designed amongst us to strive with the Spaniard for the mastery of all those seas.” Writing to Vice-Admiral Goodson, Fortescue’s colleague, he reminded him that the war was a war not for dominion only, but for religion.
“Set up your banners in the name of Christ, for undoubtedly it is his cause. And let the reproach and shame that hath been for your sins, and through the misguidance of some, lift up your hearts to confidence in the Lord, and for the redemption of his honour from men who attribute their success to their idols, the work of their own hands.... The Lord himself hath a controversy with your enemies; even with that Roman Babylon of which the Spaniard is the great underpropper. In this respect we fight the Lord’s battles.”
The battle was long and hard. At the end of 1655, when Robert Sedgwick, the conqueror of Acadia, arrived at Jamaica with the first reinforcements, he found Fortescue dying, and the army
“in as sad and deplorable and distracted a condition as can be thought. The soldiery many dead, their carcases lying unburied in the highways and among bushes; many of them that were alive walked about like ghosts or dead men, who, as I walked through the town, lay groaning and crying out, ‘Bread, for the Lord’s sake!’”